that death and hell and darkness should never more drive men to madness.'

On the evening of this day Mr. Lacy received the following note. It seemed written at once with difficulty and with rapidity, and in parts was somewhat illegible.

'If you still wish to see me, Mr. Lacy,—if you are not wearied with vainly seeking admittance to one who is not worthy to wipe the dust from your feet, come to me now. You spoke to me to-day, though you never turned your eyes towards me. I looked into your face, and it seemed to me as if it had been the face of an angel; and when your lips uttered the words that my hand had written I hung upon your lips. It was as a voice from heaven; my heart melted within me, and I wept,-not as I have often wept, for my eyes are worn out with crying,-not tears that scorch the eyelids as they flow, but tears that seem to loosen the iron band that binds my temples, and to melt the dull hard stone in my breast. I came home, and knelt by my bedside -my prayer-book was in my hand: I opened it, and these words met my eyes, "The Order for the Visitation of the Sick." I closed the book, and read no more. Mr. Lacy, I am sick in body, and sick at heart. Will you come and visit me? You will not question me; you will not ask me why my sorrow is like no other sorrow; but you will pray for me, and by me. Perhaps you may say some words like this morning's not words of comfort, words of hope, but words that will make me weep, as I wept then.

'ELLEN.'

The next morning at twelve o'clock Mr. Lacy was at the door of Mrs. Denley's house. His prayer-book was in his hand, and as he entered he slowly pronounced the appointed blessing, 'Peace be to this house, and to all that dwell in it.' Mrs. Denley led the way upstairs, and opened the door

of the room where Ellen was lying on a sofa, supported by cushions. Her face was paler than the day before, but a sudden flush overspread it as Mr. Lacy entered.

'You are welcome,' she said, extending to him at the same time her thin transparent hand. 'It is kind of you to come, and kind of you (she added, turning to Mrs. Denley and to Mary Evans, who were standing by) to join in these prayers. There are responses to be made, I believe.'

Mr. Lacy perceived that she was anxious that he should begin the service at once, without previously entering into conversation with her; and feeling deeply himself that no words of his could bring such powerful consolation to the soul, if burthened with sorrow, or so forcibly awaken the sense of sin, if guilt and remorse were troubling it, as those which the Church supplied him with, he knelt at once by Ellen's couch, and, with more emotion than he had perhaps ever felt before in the exercise of this portion of his sacred ministry, he read the solemn prayer for mercy with which this service opens.

After the Lord's Prayer, in which Ellen had feebly joined, Mr. Lacy and the two women, who knelt opposite to him, repeated alternately the impressive sentences of the Litany, which immediately follows it.

There was something in these supplications that seemed to accord, in some extraordinary manner, with the state of Ellen's mind. When the minister prayed 'that her enemy should have no advantage of her,' she started convulsively, and gazed wildly about her, as the women responded, 'Nor the wicked approach to hurt her.' When the words 'From the face of her enemy,' were uttered, she hid her face in her hands, and a slight shudder shook her frame. After a pause

Mr. Lacy read the prayers that follow, and then, rising from his knees, turned towards Ellen and addressed to her the beautiful and touching exhortation that forms part of the

service; but when towards the end of it-'Forasmuch as after this life there is an account to be given unto the Righteous Judge, by whom all must be judged, without respect of persons -he required her to examine herself and her estate, both towards God and towards man, so that accusing and condemning herself for her own faults, she might find mercy at our heavenly Father's hand for Christ's sake, then Ellen trembled. When he rehearsed to her the Apostles' Creed, and asked her if all these articles of the Christian faith she steadfastly believed, she bowed her assent. And now they had arrived at that solemn period in the service when the minister was bound by his sacred office to examine whether she truly repented her of her sins, and was in charity with all the world,—when he was to exhort her to forgive from the bottom of her heart the persons that had offended her; and if she had offended any other, to ask of them forgiveness; and where she had done injury or wrong to any man, to make amends to the uttermost of her power. He did so in words of awful warning, and at the same time of soothing tenderness; but no answer came from her lips—she turned her face towards the wall; and, to use the expressive words of Holy Scripture, she lifted up her voice and wept.

Mr. Lacy directed Mrs. Denley and Mary Evans to leave him alone with Ellen, but to remain within call in case their presence was required.

When the door was closed he addressed her in the following words :-'Your conscience is troubled with some weighty matter—the heaviness of guilt is on your soul, ay, and that of deep anguish too,' he added, as the heartrending expression of her countenance, which she suddenly turned towards him, revealed the acuteness of her sufferings. 'Perhaps, too, you may have been more sinned against than sinning. Perhaps the hand of man has been against you, and you have wandered, young as you are, through the wilderness of the

world, and found no rest for the sole of your foot. You have longed, perhaps, like the dove, to flee away and be at rest.'

In a hoarse voice Ellen murmured, 'There is no peace for the wicked!'

'But there is pardon for the penitent and peace for the pardoned,' rejoined Mr. Lacy.

'Pardoned! pardoned!' exclaimed Ellen, pressing her hand to her forehead, 'I shall never feel myself pardoned! Mr. Lacy, I have sometimes opened the Bible, and I have read in it words of pity, words of mercy, words of promise, and for a moment they seemed to bring comfort to my soul; but the dark spirit within me would still whisper, They are not written for thee,-not for thee. O God! O God! when shall I ever feel forgiven?'

'When, laying aside all human pride, all human fears,' solemnly replied Mr. Lacy, 'in meek distrust of your own judgment, in deep humility of spirit, you make, as the Church requires, a special confession of your sins to one, who, if you truly repent and believe, can absolve you from them, by the authority committed to him by our Lord Jesus Christ.'

Ellen listened to these words in deep silence, and Mr. Lacy did not interrupt her meditation. After a long pause, during which she seemed absorbed in the most intense thought, she once more extended her hand to him and said: 'I think, I hope, that a change has come over me. Thoughts are crowding upon my mind that never came there before, and things begin to appear to me in a new light. Perhaps it is from the approach of death, which since yesterday has seemed to draw very near to me; and to one who has suffered as I have suffered, death, if it could be robbed of its terror, ought not to be very dreadful. I have often said, "Would that I could lay myself down and die ;" but now-now that I see death coming in its stern reality—I

would fain shrink from it; and yet nothing but the cold hand of death will ever still the passionate throbbings of my heart, and teach it to love less wildly, or to hate less fiercely. Forgive me, forgive me, Mr. Lacy! Oh, do not turn away from me! God has sent you to me as an angel of mercy, not as the minister of His wrath. You bade me confess my sins. See, I confess them! I will kneel to you!' And Ellen, in spite of Mr. Lacy's efforts to prevent her, flung herself on the ground at his feet, and clung to them in an agony of tears. He instantly raised her, and, replacing her on the sofa, with a voice of authority desired her to be calm, and to compose herself. She obeyed, and in a few minutes, and with an altered manner, she again addressed him. 'I cannot confess my sins without revealing the history of my life; my guilt and my sorrows are so closely linked together that they cannot be separated; but I wish to keep no secret from you-you have brought a vision of peace and of hope before me; and perhaps, when you know how miserable I have been, though how guilty, you may not think me utterly unworthy of it.'

'None are unworthy of pardon in the eyes of our adorable Saviour,' said Mr. Lacy, 'who heartily repent and sue for it; but remember that we must forgive as we hope to be forgiven.'

'Since I have seen you and heard you,' said Ellen, ‘I can pray, I dare pray, and I will pray, that God may change my heart, and teach me to forgive as I hope to be forgiven : and now, as I am not strong enough to speak much at a time, and as I wish to open my heart to you without reserve, I will put into your hands a history of my life, which, during days of solitude and nights of weary watchings, I have written, and which will disclose to you all the secrets of my soul; it is the most complete confession I can make. When you have read it, Mr. Lacy, you will return to me.